The Invisible Labor of Black Womanhood

I initially started this blog about not asking for help and how we are conditioned consciously and subconsciously to conform to roles. As a black woman, a mom, an eldest daughter, eldest granddaughter, and so on and so on it is inherent that I became a title. The roles bestowed upon me became a relay race where I was constantly trying to grab the baton, except I was the only person in the race. Because when you are the first, there’s no team, blueprint, or anything. Just trial and error, and whatever is picked up along the way. That shit is hard and isolating and perseverance building. 

Fulfilling these titles or roles left very little space to just be. My identity of self did not have fertile soil to bloom into what I wanted to be because of these titles, so for a very long time, I leaned so heavily on them, I lost myself, better put, I did not really find myself outside of the titles. On the flip side, the same things that make you laugh make you cry, right? 

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Being a multitasker and go-getter, independent and oldest daughter, the firstborn grandchild titles that gave me a sense of pride, and were conjoined to my worth. Everything requires balance, yin and yang. The same said things were corroding away at my nervous system. The nervous system is a complex communication network within the body that controls and coordinates bodily functions. It's responsible for sending and receiving messages between the brain, spinal cord, and the rest of the body, allowing for conscious and unconscious actions, thoughts, and feelings.  

Creating the life I want and living on my terms.

The identity of being the roles was planted from the beginning, it is all I knew. So, the exact moment when they began to get too heavy to carry, I did not know what was happening; I just knew I wasn’t operating at my highly achieving self. It felt so normal to be strong and resourceful and continue to go. Until it didn't. When you perform at a certain level, there is a perception that you do not need help. And when you are running races by yourself, there is another seed planted that you don’t need help. So asking for help feels unsafe and unknown. A lot of my needs were unseen or unheard. 
                                                                             Burnout.
I had no idea who to ask for help or what kind of help I needed. I just knew that I was tired of being in the race. 
I didn’t know who to ask or what to ask for. I just knew I was done running that race. From the outside, I still looked put together. Success is a second skin for me. But slowly, I split in two:

1. My accomplishments.

2. My to-do list.    
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          My sense of self evaporated into the background until I barely recognized myself. There is a theory floating around TikTok that if you look put together or if you have a history of success, people are less likely to support and show up for you. 
Irony.
The journey back to self has been unconventional, but old keys do not unlock new doors. I knew that I couldn't keep functioning with an empty cup, and I want to be the fullest version of myself. I have tried Reiki, which is a realignment of your seven chakras: Muladhara (Root), Svadhishthana (Sacral), Manipura (Solar Plexus), Anahata (Heart), Vishuddha (Throat), Ajna (Third Eye), and Sahasrara (Crown). It was a reaffirming experience that made me feel as though I was finally being seen. I tried yoga per the suggestion of my therapist because traumatic experiences affect how we connect to our nervous systems and disconnect from being in our bodies.                                                                                                                                                     Yoga helped with my boundaries to know when I need to pause and rest. I tried hypnosis too, not "bark three times" vibes, more of a rewiring of my nervous system with a clearing of preconceived notions kind. I was fully awake and could hear, see, and move, but I was in a very deep meditation. One of the few times my overactive mind was still. Hypnosis shifted my neuropathways and removed hurdles I could not see.

Uprooting something buried so deeply in my core was no easy feat. The final boss of adulting and simultaneously healing is unlearning conditions, beliefs, and detaching from projections without malice while still honoring the gifts received from the darkness. The same thing that felt foreign and at times shameful was the same thing that aided in my healing. 

 I needed help. I need help. I deserve help. I require help to operate at the best version of myself.
Help comes in many forms, and healing comes in waves. Like the ocean, it’s never-ending, ferocious, and calm all at the same time. For me, it looks like finding ease when and where I can without shame. It looks like me resting even when I have the capacity to do many things exceptionally well. It looks like me saying no without an explanation or guilt. It looks like me hiring cleaners to clean my home or sending my laundry out to be washed and folded. It looks like me getting a driver to take me to the airport and carry my luggage. 
It also looks like me being present at my son’s practice and building Lego sets with him. It looks like me booking a flight to drink espresso martini’s on the beach. Most importantly, it looks like me having my hair and nails done and wearing my favorite vintage dress and furry heels on a Wednesday just because. 

My biggest flex is that I can be happy with myself as myself and it not be rooted in being a mother, a daughter, a big sister, but as Dejeuné. 

To the strong Black woman who feels the need to keep it all together at all costs, who has worn independence like armor and is starting to feel the cracks: I see you. I was once in your shoes. That’s how I know a shift is possible. I will continue to be a living example of what it means to denounce titles and redefine what it is to be a Black woman. I hope you find the courage to do the hardest and most revolutionary thing: ask for help.